


What a Piece of Work (is Man)

by stillwaterseas (phoenixflight)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, References to Hamlet, Snark, jock damen, lots of knives, mouthy laurent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-20 06:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16132049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/stillwaterseas
Summary: Damen dropped his backpack beside the library table and took the seat opposite his new pupil. The boy didn’t look up, slouched in his chair looking down at his phone. Damen took a moment to study him. He had fine blond hair that fell over his eyes, and his school uniform was meticulously neat despite his bad posture.“Laurent de Vere?”The boy looked up at him and Damen felt something warm shift in his belly. He was beautiful, fine features and startling blue eyes. “Who wants to know?” His voice was clipped and unfriendly.“I’m Damen Akielos. I was assigned to be your new math tutor.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niniblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniblack/gifts).



> This work would not have been written without the inspiration, encouragement, and beta'ing of the excellent niniblack.   
> I will put chapter-specific trigger warnings in the endnotes of certain chapters, but mind the tags. Here be knives.

Damen dropped his backpack beside the library table and took the seat opposite his new pupil. The boy didn’t look up, slouched in his chair looking down at his phone. Damen took a moment to study him. He had fine blond hair that fell over his eyes, and his school uniform was meticulously neat despite his bad posture. 

“Laurent de Vere?” 

The boy looked up at him and Damen felt something warm shift in his belly. He was beautiful, fine features and startling blue eyes. “Who wants to know?” His voice was clipped and unfriendly. 

“I’m Damen Akielos. I was assigned to be your new math tutor.” 

Those eyes flicked over him. “I don’t need help from some jock who needs community service time.” 

Damen blinked. “I chose to tutor as my senior elective.” 

“Why? Thought it’d be a good excuse to hit on freshman girls?”

“No! I -” 

“Homework and chill?” Laurent’s lips twisted, and Damen noticed with a guilty shock the pink color of his mouth. “That’s what they call it these days, right?” 

Damen took a deep breath. “Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Damen. I’m top of the class in calculus and I like helping people with math because I think it’s an interesting topic that people vilify unnecessarily.” 

Laurent stared at him, a slight furrow between his brows, and then made a sour face and looked back at his phone. “Whatever.” 

“...Ok.” Damen let out a slow breath, spreading his hands on the table. “So, what are you working on?” 

“Candy Crush Empire III,” he said without looking up. 

“I meant in math. What are you working on in math.” 

Laurent shrugged. 

Damen wondered if this attitude was some kind of defense mechanism for dealing with embarrassment, or if he really was just this much of a bitchy child. People got weird about needing tutoring. “What assignment are you working on?” he asked, keeping his voice calm. 

Barely glancing up, Laurent tipped his chin toward the papers on the table in front of him. Damen leaned forward and looked at the top sheet, recognizing the geometry assignment. “Proofs huh? Is this your math notebook?” He reached for the blue bound journal on the table beside the papers. 

Laurent’s hand slammed down on the notebook, making him jump. “Don’t touch that.” 

“Sorry.” Damen sat back. “So, what’s the last thing you remember learning about proofs?” 

Pulling the blue journal off the table, Laurent shoved it in his bag and then sat back and thumbed at his phone screen again. 

Damen blew out a breath. “I know math can be overwhelming but proofs aren’t nearly as hard as they seem. You just have to balance the equation and solve for the variables.” 

Laurent flicked his eyes up, and mumbled something under his breath in what sounded like French.

Looking up at the clock, Damen sighed. Another forty-five minutes to go. He’d had sessions like this before, sullen kids who didn’t want to make the effort, or more usually, didn’t think they were worth the effort, but something about Laurent’s particular brand of teenage attitude rubbed him exactly wrong. “Look. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to be here. You and I are stuck together for two hours a week for the rest of the semester. So we might as well not waste both of our time and try to get some schoolwork done.”

Laurent glanced up, and his lip curled slightly. “I’m aware that what I want doesn’t signify.” 

“That wasn’t what I… You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Do I?” Laurent raised one pale eyebrow, looking down at his phone. “I don’t know anything about you.” 

“I’m…” Damen spread his hands. “I’m just here to help you. But I can’t do that if you won’t let me.” 

Something crossed Laurent’s face so fast that Damen couldn’t parse the expression. “I told you. I don’t need your help.” 

Sitting back, Damen folded his arms across his chest. “Fine. I guess we’ll just sit here.” 

“Fine,” Laurent parotted. 

After a couple of long, silent minutes staring at Laurent’s bent head, Damen relented and pulled out one of his own textbooks. If he wasn’t going to be tutoring he might as well get some work done. Senior English was kicking his ass. 

Their hour was almost up and he had made very little progress on his Shakespeare analysis when a soft shuffle of footsteps made him look up. The school principal was approaching their table. He was a composed man of middle size and middle age, with a neatly trimmed beard and an impeccably straight tie. 

“Hello there.” He halted by their table, looking down. Laurent’s eyes flickered. Nothing about his posture changed but Damen would have sworn his whole body tensed. Damen sat up straighter, surprised. The principal was an amiable enough man but he rarely took a personal interest in the older students. 

“Hi Mr. De Vere.” Even as he said it, he was looking down at the sheet of paper with Laurent’s name on it. It wasn’t a common surname. Didn’t the principal have a nephew or something at the school? Damen looked up in time to see the principal smiling kindly down at Laurent, whose face was stony. 

“It’s very kind of you to volunteer as a tutor. Mr. Akielos, was it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And how is my nephew doing, Mr. Akielos?" the principal asked. "He's always struggled in math. I've tried to help him, but perhaps you'll have better luck."

Damen crossed his arms. He didn’t want to offend the principal by insulting his nephew but he was still annoyed. "Well, he'd probably be doing better if he weren't on his phone so much." 

Lifting his head, Laurent glared at him, the most focus he had shown for the last hour. "Or maybe if you had a clue what you were talking about," he shot back.

The principal shook his head, frowning in disappointment. Reaching out, he plucked Laurent's phone from his hand. Laurent made a noise of protest and tried to grab it back, but the principal had already tucked it in his pocket. "I guess I'll just have to hold onto this until your grades improve then." Laurent sat back, scowling fiercely at both Damen and his uncle. The principal clucked his tongue. “I’m sorry to waste your time Mr. Akielos. I wish I could promise that he’ll be more attentive next week but unfortunately he’s just impossible to control.” 

Laurent scoffed softly in the back of his throat and crossed his arms. 

“Come now, Laurent,” his uncle tutted. “That attitude is unattractive. Gather your things and say thank you to Mr. Akielos, then we’ll go home.” 

Picking up his papers and shoving them along with the journal in his backpack, Laurent stood and said, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Akielos,” before turning his back and stalking out of the library. 

The principal shook his head. “I apologize for my nephew’s behavior. It’s very embarrassing. I’ve done my best with him since his parents died but I’m afraid he’s seriously troubled.” 

Looking after Laurent, Damen thought about his cutting remarks and sharp eyes. Laurent was certainly  _ something. _ It must be stressful, he thought, for his uncle trying to care for him. “That’s alright, Mr. De Vere. No need to apologize.” Privately, he thought that his Tuesday and Thursday schedule had just gotten a lot more irritating. 

 

 

On Thursday afternoon Damen dragged his feet on the way to the library. Usually tutoring left him invigorated and positive, and he felt another stab of annoyance at Laurent. 

Once again, Laurent was already at the library, at the most tucked-away work table in the back. Instead of his phone, he was hunched over a thick book that seemed to be in French, and didn’t look up when Damen took the chair opposite. 

“Hi Laurent. How was your week?” 

Laurent glanced up, gave him a incredulous look, and returned to his book.

“Still no phone?”

“Thanks to you.” 

Damen shifted, fighting the urge to apologize. “All I did was tell him the truth. You weren’t focusing on the work at all.” 

Laurent turned a page. 

Over the past two days Damen had given himself a pep talk about positivity and giving people the benefit of the doubt. Being a teenager was hard, and you never knew what was going on in someone else’s life. He folded his hands on the table and prepared to be professional. “So… can I look at your assignments for today? Please?” 

Frowning, Laurent looked up at him again, studying him for a long moment, and then he shrugged and leaned down to pull a crumpled paper out of his backpack, shoving it across the table at Damen. 

Smoothing out the worksheet, Damen studied it. “Ok, listen Laurent. I know how overwhelming and discouraging math can be, especially once you’ve gotten behind. It’s confusing and embarrassing to get left behind in a subject and math can be hard to catch up with. But that’s why I’m here. We can take this at your own pace and really just focus on the things you need support with.” 

Laurent was watching him with both eyebrows raised and an expression of polite disbelief on his face, but at least he was paying attention. Damen continued, encouraged. “Proofs seem hard at first because they are different than a lot of other things we teach in math at this level, but they are actually really straightforward. They use numbers and sequences of logic to construct a watertight argument, basically.” 

Laurent blinked at him slowly, book still open. “I know how logical constructions work.” 

“Well, then that’s great! That’s a place to start. The important thing with math is to start from a place you’re confident in and build from there. So would you say you’re familiar with the concept of a given premise in logic?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Slamming his book shut, Laurent snatched the paper back out of Damen’s hand and picked up a pencil. 

Damen watched with his mouth open as Laurent bent over the page, scowling, and scribbled rapidly. The proofs unrolled beneath his pencil in a neat, loopy script. As far as Damen could tell, reading upside down, each one was perfectly correct. It took less than ten minutes for Laurent to do both sides of the worksheet, and then he sat back, tossing a lock of hair out of his eyes, and glared at Damen challengingly. His cheeks were flushed, lower lip wet and red where he had chewed it while he worked. 

Damen tore his eyes away from Laurent’s face and looked down at the page. “That… that was… but you… why?” 

“Geometry is so unspeakably easy that it is not worth my time.” His voice was clipped and cold. 

“So you should be in accelerated classes! No wonder you’re bored and not doing the work.” 

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t my uncle tell you how troubled I am? I’m sure I couldn’t manage a higher workload. Because I’m unstable.” He smiled with so much fake sweetness it made Damen’s stomach churn. “This?” Laurent held up the finished worksheet. “This is an insult to my intelligence.” Taking the paper in both hands, he ripped it neatly down the middle. 

“But!” Damen exclaimed, reaching out too late. “That was your homework! You’d finished it!” 

Laurent gave him a glance so withering that it put his father’s stern looks to shame. “Really? Oh dear. It slipped my mind, because I’m such a fuck-up.” 

“You… that’s not…” Damen spluttered. “You’re not a fuck up!” 

“What the hell do you know about it? You don’t know anything about me.” 

“So tell me something!” Damen waved his hands. “Tell me why you could clearly be getting straight As in math and are choosing not to!” His voice had risen little too much. A couple of other students cast glances at them, and the librarian, a huge, square woman with a face like a block of marble, glowered at them from the circulation desk. 

Laurent glared, crossing his arms. “No.” 

“No?” 

“No, I don’t have to tell you.” 

“You’re right. You don’t have to tell me,” Damen sighed, deflating. “Forget it.” 

 

The next week he didn’t even ask about the math, just sat down opposite Laurent and pulled out his copy of Hamlet. Over the weekend he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Laurent; the way he chewed his lip while he concentrated, the sharpness of his false smiles, the sound of his voice as he said,  _ because I’m a fuck-up. _

“So did you fall asleep with your eyes open or are you just that slow of a reader?” 

Startled, Damen looked up from his book. “What?” 

“You’ve been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes.” 

Laurent had been watching him? He rubbed his forehead. “Just distracted, I guess. Also,” he waggled the book, “I hate this.” 

“What, reading?” Laurent rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised.”

“No, reading is okay. I just don’t really like Shakespeare.” 

Laurent gave him an incredulous look and said, “Shakespeare is the greatest literary mind to ever write in the western canon.” 

Damen blinked. It was the first time he’d heard Laurent sound actually interested in something. He looked down at the worn cover of Hamlet and shrugged. “I find it hard to understand?” 

Making an impatient noise, Laurent held out a hand. When Damen just looked at him, confused, he wiggled his fingers. “Give it here.”

“The book?”

“No, I want to hold hands.  _ Yes _ the book.” 

Damen handed it over. 

“Shakespeare wasn’t meant to be read on a page. It’s a play. Beginners often find it easier to hear spoken aloud.”

Ignoring the way Laurent said  _ beginners _ , Damen propped his chin on his hands. “You’re going to read to me?”

Laurent shot him a disapproving glance, long fingers flipping through the pages. “Ah here. Act two, scene two. One of the most famous soliloquies ever written.” 

“To be or not to be?” 

“No. Correct play though, well done. Now hush.” Laurent sat up straighter in his chair and composed his face into something dignified and thoughtful. It made him look older. Damen felt his heartbeat speed up. “I have of late, though wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, foregone all custom of exercise; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this most goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory.” His voice was low and clear, rolling melodically over the rhythm of the verse. “This most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave overhanging firmament, this majestical roof, fretted with golden fire; why it appeareth no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors.” 

Watching the troubled frown on Laurent’s face, Damen heard clearly the distress in the words, the contrast between the golden fire and pestilent vapors. His chest felt tight. 

“What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, in form and moving how express and admirable, in actions how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god!” Laurent’s sweet voice broke on the last word and Damen felt like he couldn’t breath. “The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals.”

His lifted his gaze and Damen’s stomach turned over as he was pinned by those blue eyes. 

“And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?” He held Damen’s gaze for a long, breathless moment, and then flicked his hair back and finished in a lighter voice. “Man delights not me. No, nor woman neither; though by your smiling you seem to say so.” 

There was a silence. Then Laurent shut the book with a soft thump and cleared his throat. He was looking down at the table, not meeting Damen’s eyes. “So. That’s Shakespeare.” 

“That.” Damen swallowed. “That was amazing.” 

Laurent shrugged. “Just trying to do the bard credit.” 

“No, that was incredible. I actually understood it, I actually felt it! Like poetry.” 

“It  _ is _ poetry.” Laurent quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“I know. I just… never got it before.”  

Sighing, Laurent leaned back in his chair. “Like everything else about school, our educational model manages to take a perfectly fascinating subject and destroy it by teaching a formulaic and uninspired curriculum.”

“Yeah.” Damen nodded. “Yeah it’s a shame. That’s exactly how I feel about math.”

Laurent glanced up sharply, and Damen grinned. Rolling his eyes Laurent picked up his own book again and went back to ignoring him, but Damen couldn’t stop smiling. 


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next couple of weeks, the two of them reached a tentative truce. They met twice a week in the library, and more often than not sat silently as Damen did his homework and Laurent ploughed through an endless stack of library books that he never seemed to check out.

“You do know you can take those home, right?” Damen said one afternoon as Laurent gathered an armload of books to return to Halvik, the librarian. 

Laurent scowled at him, but it didn’t have quite the edge that his scathing looks sometimes did. “I know how libraries work, thank you. You’re the one who didn’t know how to use a fax machine until last week.” 

“Come on, why would I have needed to know about fax machines? No one uses them anymore.” 

“Except the admissions office at Columbia, apparently,” Laurent said over his shoulder. “You’re lucky you have me.” 

“What century are you even from?” Damen complained, but he was sure he saw Laurent smile as he turned away, and it made something warm curl in his chest. 

 

“He’s what?” Nikandros said, pulling his jersey over his head and tossing it on the bench in the locker room. 

“A friend,” Damen repeated, toweling sweat off his face. “I mean, kind of.” 

“And it doesn’t have anything to do with his blond hair?” Nik said sourly. 

Damen rolled his eyes and uncapped his water bottle. “Of course not.” 

“Are we talking about the Ice Princess?” Orlant asked, slamming his locker. 

Mouth full of water, Damen spluttered and swallowed. “What?” 

“The Ice Princess. De Vere’s nephew.” Orlant dropped his cleats on the bench. “Haven’t you heard what people say about him? He’s frigid.” 

Damen frowned. “He’s not so bad.”

“When he was a freshman he made Mr. Touars cry in homeroom. He doesn’t have any friends and doesn’t do any work. The only reason he hasn’t been expelled is that he’s the principal’s nephew.” 

Lazar grabbed Orlant’s deodorant out of his locker. “Pallas had a class with him last year, said the only time he talked was to correct the teacher.” 

“Too bad he’s such a frigid bitch,” Orlant said. “Have you seen his mouth?” 

Damen tossed his towel on the bench. “Come on, Orlant. He’s a sophomore, you shouldn’t talk about him like that.” 

“Says the man who’s been fucking college girls since he was sixteen. Back me up here, Lazar. Is Laurent de Vere not the hottest twink you’ve ever seen outside your computer screen?” 

“I’d fuck him,” Lazar said thoughtfully, “Except I don’t like being insulted in bed. Maybe if I could keep his mouth occupied.” 

“Don’t let your boyfriend hear you say that,” Jord said, coming in from the showers. 

“Pallas isn’t a jealous little bitch like Aimeric,” Lazar said cheerfully. 

“Fuck you!” Jord whipped his towel across Lazar’s chest, making him yelp and stumble back. Jord lunged for him and the two of them grappled, banging against the lockers. 

As they scuffled, Nikandros leaned past Damen to grab a clean shirt of of his locker. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered. 

“I’m not doing anything!” Damen whispered back. “We’re just hanging out! He’s my pupil. It would be inappropriate.” 

Nik scoffed. “Sure.” 

 

It would be inappropriate, Damen repeated to himself sternly as he watched Laurent chew the end of his pencil. He was bent over his journal, bright hair falling in his eyes. Damen forced himself to look away from Laurent’s slender fingers turning the page, the set of his shoulders beneath his uniform jacket. Laurent was his pupil, he reminded himself, and younger than him.  _ Only two years, _ a treacherous voice in his head pointed out.  _ Jokaste was 19 when you dated her. _ That had ended badly, of course, when she decided she’d rather fuck his older brother. 

No, he and Laurent were just - nothing really. As much as Damen felt a spark of kinship between them, a flutter when Laurent let his stern mask slip, he couldn’t really call them friends; not in the way he was friends with Nikandros or his teammates, comfortable, easy relationships. Comfortable and easy were not words he associated with Laurent. Still, Damen always found himself disappointed at the end of their hour when Laurent’s uncle would come to collect him. 

 

Taking his usual seat, Damen slumped forward and thunked his head against the table, groaning. 

There was a brief silence from the other seat, and then Laurent said, “If you’re going to die, do it outside. Arnoul probably couldn’t lift your body.”

“Who’s Arnoul?”

“The janitor.” 

“You know the janitor’s name?” Damen squinted up at Laurent who looked coolly back at him. 

“Of course. Why, do you think speaking to custodial staff is beneath you?”  

“No, of course not.” Damen thought guiltily that he wasn’t even sure what the janitor looked like, other than a vague impression of a small man pushing a cart. “I’m just tired. Coach kept us late at practice yesterday, so I had to stay up studying for my chem final. And I still haven’t started my essay on Hamlet that’s due Friday.” 

“Yes, being an overachieving jock sounds terrible,” Laurent drawled. “I’m so lucky no one expects anything of me because I’m an unstable delinquent.” 

Damen narrowed his eyes, but didn’t take the bait, just dropped his head back to the table. “I’m gonna fail English because of this fucking essay. Then I won’t get into pre-med and my life will be ruined.”

Laurent snorted. “What have you got so far?” 

Damen peeked up from his arms and grimaced. “A thesis statement?” he muttered.

“Read it to me. No, wait. Give me a moment.” Laurent sighed theatrically. “I’m girding my loins for how awful this is about to be. Ok, I’m ready.”

Damen looked down at his notebook. “The essay prompt was to write about the most important relationship in the play, so my topic sentence is  _ Hamlet’s love for Ophelia causes the tragic ending of the play. _ ”

Laurent made a pained noise and wrinkled his nose. “I wasn’t ready. Oh, god.”

“It’s not that bad,” Damen huffed. 

“No, it’s not terrible, it’s worse than terrible. It’s conventional and insipid.” 

“Hey. I wasn’t aiming for groundbreaking scholarship. I’m not getting my PhD here.” 

“Clearly not,” Laurent said, clipped. “But really, the Ophelia thing? That is such a fundamentally flawed, straight-boy reading of Hamlet.” 

Over the last month he’d gotten better at letting Laurent’s insults slide off him, but that stung unexpectedly. He crossed his arms, feeling defiant. “Who says I’m straight?”

Laurent’s eyes widened a little, and Damen felt a pleased flutter low in his belly. But Laurent recovered fast. “Well your literary analysis doesn’t exactly speak in favor of your queerness. Ophelia is an afterthought. Hamlet and Horatio are clearly the most intimate relationship of this play.” 

“I mean, is intimate the same as important?” Damen propped his elbows on the table. “Most of Hamlet’s rash action is driven by other characters. Ophelia, his mother....the ghost.”

“Don’t you dare go Freud on me with the Hamlet and his mom thing.” 

“No, no, I promise.” Damen held up his hands hastily. “Freud sucks. I’m just saying, surely the people you love most are the ones who make you act the most rashly. Horatio was just a friend.” 

Laurent frowned down at the table, idly flipping a pencil between his fingers. “I don’t think so,” he said finally. “Horatio was the only person in the play that Hamlet really trusted. Love should be something stable. Something safe.” 

Damen thought about Jokaste. He had trusted her, until he caught her with Kastor. He had trusted his brother too. In the awful aftermath of that he had wondered, had she ever really loved him? “Hamlet isn’t safe,” he said slowly. “He spends the whole play on edge, worried about his uncle, his mother, Ophelia, himself. And people tell him over and over that they care for him, but they keep hurting him.”

Laurent was staring at the bookshelf opposite, eyes unfocused and mouth tight. “Yes.” His voice was strangled and odd. 

Damen blinked. “Are you okay?” 

Laurent’s gaze focused on him again, and he visibly gathered himself. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I don’t know. You just looked… upset.” 

A frown crease Laurent’s brow. He shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s your essay you ought be worried about.” 

Groaning, Damen slumped back in his chair and thwacked the notebook against his face. “I have to start over, don’t I?”

Laurent made an unsympathetic noise in his throat. “Well, think about it this way. You only have one sentence to rewrite.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW in this chapter for evidence of abusive parental behavior - see end notes for spoilery details

“I got a B on the Hamlet essay,” Damen exclaimed, dropping the paper onto the table with a thwack. 

Laurent barely glanced up. “Well done,” he muttered. “Your perfect life can continue unimpeded.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” He was on his phone again, like the first day, scowling down at the screen. 

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Damen was learning not to take Laurent’s surly moments personally. “You got your phone back. That’s a good thing, right?” 

Laurent shrugged, not looking up. 

“Did you convince your uncle you're getting your school work done?” 

Laurent snorted. “He'd never believe that. We reached an… alternative arrangement.” His expression was so shuttered and forbidding that Damen sat back carefully. 

“Ok.” Slouching down in his seat he pulled out his history textbook. 

He had written half a page of notes when Laurent said. “Halvik just had her first grandkid.” 

Damen blinked. “Halvik? The librarian?” He glanced over at the stern-faced woman, tapping away at the circulation computer. She looked the same as ever. “How do you know?”

“It’s called speaking to people,” Laurent said icily. “You could try it some time.” 

“I’m speaking to you, aren’t I? I didn’t mean…” He shook his head. “Well, good for her. And her kid, I guess?” Laurent was glaring at him and he wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong. He shrugged helplessly at Laurent, and looked back at his textbook. 

There was a silence, and then Laurent said in a softer voice, sounding almost reluctant, “I wanted to bring her a gift but I couldn’t get it this morning.” 

“Oh.” Damen sat back and put down his pencil. “Um. We could go buy something nice, right now, if you wanted?” 

Laurent shook his head. “No, I mean I have a gift. It’s at my house, but I couldn’t get it this morning. Uncle would have asked questions.” 

“What’s wrong with you bringing someone a gift? Nevermind,” he added hastily at Laurent’s dark look. “Do you want to go get it now? Is it close enough to get back before four thirty?”

Laurent glanced at the clock and nodded. 

“Then let’s go.” Damen started gathering his books. “We can take my car.” 

“Are you sure that’s-” Laurent bit his lip, and then nodded. “Yeah. Ok.” 

 

In the parking lot, Damen unlocked the red sportscar and gestured Laurent forward. Climbing in the passenger side, Laurent buckled his seat belt and ran a hand along the dashboard. “Nice car.” 

“Yeah. It was my brother’s before he moved to Europe with my girlfriend.” 

“Sorry, what?” 

“Long story,” Damen sighed and started the engine. “You turn sixteen this spring, right? Are you learning to drive?” 

Laurent shook his head. “No.” 

“No? You don’t want to? Also, which way are we going?” 

“Left here.” Looking out the window, Laurent’s shoulders hunched up a little. “My uncle won’t let me.” 

“Won’t let you? That’s…” Damen’s brow furrowed. “That’s a pretty big thing to deny you.” 

Laurent’s shoulders twitched in a tight shrug. “I’ve proven myself too irresponsible and immature to trusted with the privilege.” 

Damen frowned at Laurent’s impassive profile and then at the road. “Well… do you want to?” 

Glancing over, Laurent’s eyes went a little wide. “What do you mean? Take the next right.” 

“I mean, I could teach you, if you wanted. It wasn’t that long ago that I was learning, I remember what it’s like. It’s really not that hard. I mean. If you wanted.” 

Laurent’s brow was furrowed and the intensity of his gaze made Damen’s neck itch. “Why?” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you don’t just offer favors to someone without wanting something back.” 

“I don’t…” Damen swallowed. “I’m just doing what I’d like someone to do for me in your place.” 

“Take a right at the stop sign.” Laurent crossed his arms. “I don’t believe in altruism. And teaching someone to drive isn’t a small favor.” 

He hadn’t actually thought the offer through, it had just come out, but he didn’t think that answer would satisfy Laurent. “I guess… we’re spending two hours together every week anyway, and I’m meant to be tutoring you, but you’re always the one helping me. So, this is something I could teach you instead.” 

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care?” 

“Because I do?” Damen shrugged. “Because we’re friends?”

“Friends? Is that what we are?” His voice was brittle. 

“Yes?” Damen glanced at him, wishing he didn’t have to watch the road so he could study Laurent’s face more closely. Damen couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking. He hesitated. “You’re not as much of a heinous bitch as you’d like people to think.” 

“Oh, thank you very much,” Laurent said, rolling his eyes, but his shoulders had relaxed a little.

 

Laurent and his uncle lived in a large house a few miles from the school, with an tidy lawn and severe landscaping. It was painted a neutral gray that somehow managed to be particularly uninviting despite being the same color as all the other houses on the block. Damen pulled into the driveway and parked as Laurent unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door. 

When Damen got out, Laurent stopped and looked back at him, frowning slightly. “You’re coming in?” 

“Um. Is that not ok?” 

Laurent stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Whatever.” 

The house was just as immaculate as Damen had imagined, unsettlingly so. There were no shoes kicked off in the foyer, no keys or mail on the side table, no jackets, throws, or books on the suede couch, no dirty dishes on the gleaming granite counters in the kitchen. Certainly there was no sign that a teenage boy lived here.  Few personal touches at all, except for a few photos, mostly of the principal and Laurent together. 

Damen halted in front of one framed photo at the foot of the stairs. In it, a younger Laurent, probably around ten, was sitting on his uncle’s lap. The principal was smiling down indulgently at the top of his nephew’s head, while Laurent stared solemnly into the camera. It was an oddly intimate picture to be hung in such a public place, he thought. 

Laurent, halfway up the stairs, paused to look back at him. 

“This is sweet,” Damen said, gesturing to the photo. 

A flicker crossed Laurent’s face, something Damen couldn’t even begin to read, and he shrugged, turning away. “Sure.” 

In the upstairs hallway, Laurent was waiting for him outside an open doorway with no door. Through it, Damen could see a neatly made bed with a faded quilt on it, out of place among the rest of the chic decor of the house. “This is my room.” 

“Where’s your door?”

“Oh. Um.” Laurent blinked at the doorway like he was just noticing. “It broke.” 

“Like the hinges? That’s easy to fix.” Damen peered at the screw holes in the doorframe. “It doesn’t look like anything tore out of the wood, that’s good. I could take a look at it for you if you wanted.” 

Laurent shifted on his feet, not looking at Damen. “Um… Maybe later. I don’t know where my uncle put it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“You could put up a curtain or something. Just a couple of thumb tacks right here.” Damen tapped the plaster above the door frame. 

“No, that’s ok. It’s fine, I’m used to it.” 

Damen frowned. “You’re used to it? How long has it been like this?” 

“I just mean it doesn’t bother me.” His face was pink, shoulders tense. “Forget it.” 

“Ok… what are you getting for Halvik?” 

Crouching down beside the bed, Laurent stretched an arm under the mattress, frowned, and squirmed a little, reaching deeper. On his knees like that his uniform slacks stretched tightly across his ass, and Damen had to look away, swallowing. 

Laurent swore, and then grunted triumphantly, sitting back on his heels holding a faded shoebox. He blew the dust off the top and slid off the lid. 

Inside was a stuffed rabbit, a little threadbare around its button nose, ears well-worn and soft. Laurent looked down at it expressionlessly, but his knuckles were white where he was clutching the box. 

“That was yours?” Damen asked softly. 

Laurent swallowed and replaced the lid on the box. “My brother’s.” 

Vaguely, Damen remembered something about an older brother. Hadn’t Laurent’s family, except for his uncle, all died in a car crash or something? “Are you sure you want to give it away?” 

Climbing to his feet, Laurent nodded tersely. “Someone ought to love it again.” His face was closed off, fiercely controlled. “C’mon.” 

They made the drive back to the school in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential triggers:   
> At Laurent's house Damen notices that Laurent's bedroom doesn't have a door, and also sees a photo of Laurent and his uncle cuddling.
> 
> If you need resources or support about sexual abuse, [the Rape Assault and Incest National Network](https://www.rainn.org/) is a good place to start.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular additional warnings unless you are allergic to Shakespeare

“You’re teaching him to drive?” Nikandros exclaimed. 

“Keep your voice down,” Damen muttered, glancing around the lunchroom.

He was starting to get a sense for the scope of Laurent’s paranoia, especially at the school, where any teacher or staff member, or even certain industrious students, might report on the principal’s nephew. 

“His uncle won’t let him learn, so I’m just giving him quick lessons each week. He’s learning fast!” 

“You’re going behind the principal’s back to teach his nephew how to drive?” Nikandros hissed. “Damen, in what universe did that sound like a good idea?” 

“There’s no reason not to,” Damen whispered heatedly. “His uncle is just overprotective and doesn’t give Laurent enough credit.” 

Nikandros huffed out an exasperated breath and stuffed a bite of his sandwich in his mouth. 

Damen changed the subject. “Are you doing the optional thing for Mr. Berenger?” 

“Going to see the production of Hamlet? Nah, I don’t need extra credit in English. You?” 

“I do need the credit but I don’t want to go alone. C’mon, Nik.” 

“My sister’s gonna be in town that weekend, we’re doing a family thing.” 

“Bring your family.” 

“If you want someone to go with you so badly, why don’t you ask your boyfriend?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Damen jabbed him in the side and Nikandros yelped and started coughing. 

“Fuck you,” he wheezed. “If I choke to death on ham and cheese, you’re gonna have to read the eulogy at my funeral.” 

Damen whacked him on the back. “He’s not my fucking boyfriend, he’s fifteen. We’re just friends.”

Batting him away, Nikandros rolled his eyes. “Ok, so ask your  _ friend _ to go to the play with you.”  

 

He wasn’t going to ask, he didn’t want it to be weird, but Damen ran into Laurent outside history that afternoon. They didn’t often see each other except after school, and when they did, Laurent always ignored him pointedly, but today there was no one else in the corridor. When Laurent caught his eye and gave him a tiny nod, Damen opened his mouth and blurted out, “Will you come see Hamlet with me?” 

Laurent stopped abruptly, glancing around at the deserted hallway. “Sorry?” 

“Mr. Berenger is offering extra credit if we go see the production of Hamlet at the Rep downtown. I was wondering if you wanted to come.” 

Laurent blinked, and then frowned. “Why?” 

“Because I know you love Hamlet? And I don’t want to go alone?” Damen’s heart was beating unaccountably fast. “I’d like to go with you.” 

“My uncle won’t let me.” 

“You haven’t asked.” 

“I’m not allowed to go out after school until my grades improve.” Laurent was still frowning, but it seemed to be more consternation with Damen than displeasure at his uncle. 

“Oh. Well.” Damen felt his shoulders sink. “Ok. See you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” As he walked away he could still feel Laurent’s gaze drilling into his back. 

  
  


On Thursday afternoon, Laurent was an uncharacteristic five minutes late to their session. When he arrived, he dumped his backpack on the table and slid down in his seat. “So I told my uncle that Mr. Berenger is going to give me extra credit for seeing the show.”

Damen looked up. “That’s great. You mean you can go?” 

“I asked uncle in front of a bunch of teachers so he couldn’t say no.” Laurent smirked. “I learned all my best tricks from him.” 

“Is Mr. B really going to give you credit?” 

“Of course, you think my uncle wouldn’t check? Mr. B likes me.” 

“Great. I… Great.” Damen swallowed. “I’ll pick you up at six?” 

Laurent was looking down at the table, but Damen thought his cheeks were a little pink. “Yeah. Ok.” 

  
  


When Damen pulled up in front of Laurent’s house, Laurent was already waiting for him outside, the blue-tinted porch light making his pale hair glow white in the darkness. He bounded across the lawn before Damen could get out of the car, sliding into the passenger seat. 

Damen found himself tongue tied. He had never seen Laurent out of his school uniform. He was wearing a dark blue sweater with a scoop neck that showed his collarbones. Damen swallowed and dragged his eyes away from the shadowed hollows and highlights of Laurent’s throat. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” Laurent was staring back, expression inscrutable. “So. Are we going anytime soon?” 

“Right. Yes. Right.” Looking away, Damen put the car in reverse. “You, uh. You look nice.” Why had he said that? This wasn’t a date. 

“Thanks.” Did Laurent sound weird? Had he made it weird? Glancing over as he merged onto the main street, he tried to read Laurent’s expression in the changing flicker of the street lights, but Laurent was looking out the window, and his profile was unreadable. 

They picked up their tickets at the box office, and milled with other theatre goers in the lobby. In the bright, warm lights Laurent looked even better, the blue of his sweater bringing out the startling color of his eyes. Damen felt awkward and underdressed in jeans, standing beside him. Laurent was easily the most beautiful person in the room.

When they took their seats, Damen was hyper aware of the brush of Laurent’s arm against his. As the house lights went down and the audience fell into rustling, expectant silence, Damen found his heart beating fast with anticipation, a feeling like waiting for the whistle before a match or leaning in for a first kiss. The curtain rose. 

Laurent had been right about seeing Shakespeare staged. Damen was able to follow the action on stage despite the archaic language. The actor’s faces and gestures were very modern, and they carried a large part of the meaning in the text. He was even able to hear some of the poetry in the words that Laurent loved so much, but he found himself watching Laurent’s profile more than the stage. His eyes glittered in the low lights, watching intently. Damen enjoyed watching emotions cross Laurent’s usually controlled face. 

During the second half of they play, Hamlet stood over his uncle holding a knife as his uncle prayed, and Laurent actually sat forward in his seat, his face mirroring the agony of indecision on Hamlet’s face. Laurent bit his lower lip and Damen felt his stomach roll pleasantly. 

 

When they stepped out of the theatre afterward, the night air was cool and fresh. Damen rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. 

“I don’t want to go home,” Laurent said, as other patrons passed them in groups of two and three. His hair glowed in the light of the marquee behind them.

Damen shoved his hands in his pockets. “We could stay out a little longer. You can tell your uncle the play went over time.” 

Laurent slanted a glance sideways at him. “What would we do? We can’t just lurk outside the theatre.” 

“I know an all-night diner where we could get ice-cream sundaes.” 

Laurent’s expression was almost startled. “I don’t have any money,” he said. 

“My treat.” The uncertain, pleased look on Laurent’s face made Damen feel warm, and he grinned down at the pavement as he led the way down the street. 

 

The diner was bright and warm and they sat at one end of the red formica bar.  _ Not a date, _ Damen reminded himself. 

“So what did you think of the play?” Laurent asked, after they ordered, swinging his feet on the swivelling stool. 

“I had a good time,” Damen said honestly. 

“You were watching me the whole time.” 

Damen flushed. He hadn’t thought he was being obvious. “Well. You looked like you were enjoying it.” 

“I did enjoy it,” Laurent said, “It was a good production.” 

The waitress in a red apron brought their sundaes over. Laurent smiled, and for once Damen thought he looked his age - not too old and serious, or absurdly young. Just a teenage boy with 25 ounces of sugar and cream in front of him. 

Leaning forward, Laurent licked a dollop of whipped cream off the top of his sundae. Damen swallowed hard and looked away, taking a huge scoop of his own to distract himself. The sweet cold made his teeth ache. He grimaced through the brain freeze. 

A pale hand slapped a napkin down on the bar in front of him. Laurent was watching him in amusement. “Good?” he asked. 

Damen nodded. “How’s yours?” 

“S’good.” Laurent licked his spoon clean and Damen felt his heart thud. “Do you want to try some?” 

Damen gulped. “Sure.” 

He leaned forward, opening his mouth. His cheeks were warm, and he could hear his heart beat in his ears. Laurent held his gaze as he offered the spoon. The cold, sweet ice cream was a shock on Damen’s tongue. He leaned back, swallowing. 

“Well?” 

“Yeah. Good.” He had barely registered the malty chocolate flavor. Laurent was still looking at him. There was a smear of chocolate on his lower lip and Damen had a sudden, vivid fantasy of licking it off. 

Laurent’s eyes dipped down to his mouth as if he were reading Damen’s mind. Then he blinked and looked back at his sundae. When he spoke, his voice was casual. “What did you mean when you said you weren’t straight? You dated that girl who ran away with your brother.” 

Damen felt the warm pressure in his chest increase. Laurent had been thinking about him, wondering about whether he dated other boys. He cleared his throat. “I’m bi.” Laurent flicked a glance up at him in acknowledgement, and licked his spoon. Damen’s pants were too tight. This was a bad idea, he tried to remind himself, but he was having trouble remembering why. 

Damen concentrated on his ice cream, keeping his mouth full so he wouldn’t have to talk. It meant that he finished his sundae when Laurent was only halfway done with his. Laurent raised his eyebrows, and Damen’s cheeks felt hot. He hadn’t felt like this since his first date with Jokaste, the dizzy excitement of going out with a college girl. He tried not to think about what Nikandros would say about the comparison. 

Laurent scraped his spoon around the bottom of his glass and licked it clean, watching Damen. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth, and let the spoon linger between his lips.  _ Fuck, _ Damen was in so much trouble. 

 

Outside the diner, they started down the street, arms brushing as they walked. They reached the car, and Damen slid his hand into his pocket for the keys. “Thanks for coming with me to the play. I really…” He broke off. Laurent had put a hand on his chest. When Damen turned to him, startled, he was standing close enough that Damen had to tilt his head down to look at him. “Wha-” he began, and his mouth was still open when Laurent grasped the back of his neck and yanked him down to kiss him. 

Laurent’s lips parted against his, uncertain but determined. It was wet and fast and clumsy and it made Damen’s heart race. When he broke away he was breathing hard. 

Laurent looked up at him, glowing gold in the orange street lights. “Kiss me again.” 

“Laurent…” 

“Why not? You want to. I know how people look at me when they want me.”

Damen swallowed, a mix of guilt and arousal making his throat tight. “Yes, I want to. But. You’re so young.” He remembered how head-over-heels he’d been for Jokaste at sixteen, so star-struck by dating an older girl that he hadn’t noticed the warning signs; her dismissiveness, her manipulations. 

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Not  _ that _ young, believe me.” He stepped forward, body warm against Damen’s chest through their clothes. Damen felt his cock twitch. “You’re only two years older than me.” 

“Three.” 

“Two and a bit. I’ll be sixteen in May.” His eyes were dark, glittering in the low light, his lashes casting shadows on his sharp cheeks. “You’re the one who keeps saying I can have things that I want.” His hand curled around Damen’s collar, warm fingers brushing his neck. 

Damen bent his head and kissed him, as sweetly and gracefully as he knew how. Laurent made a tiny noise into his mouth, and Damen’s stomach fluttered. He felt a warm ribbon of breath between them as Laurent breathed out through his nose and parted his lips. When Damen licked inside, Laurent shivered in his arms and pressed closer. 

While obviously inexperienced at kissing, Laurent was a fast learner. When Damen nibbled gently on his lower lip, Laurent returned a precise bite that made Damen moan and tighten his hands on Laurent’s hips. 

They made out against the car door until Damen’s neck hurt from bending down. Sighing, he pulled back. Laurent tipped his head against Damen’s chest, breathing hard, and Damen carded his fingers gently through Laurent’s silky hair. “I should get you home,” he murmured. 

Laurent nodded, and then Damen felt Laurent’s fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans. He jumped and reached down to grab Laurent’s hand. “Hey, not now. We don’t have time for that.” 

“It won’t take long.” 

Damen wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or bemused, so he just shook his head. “Another time.” 

“But you’re…” Laurent gestured downward to the obvious erection tenting the front of his pants. 

Damen adjusted himself a little sheepishly. “It won’t kill me.” 

Laurent was looking at him with a faint furrow on his brow, the same look he’d worn when Damen hadn’t known how to use a fax machine. Then he stepped back. “Okay. Whatever.” 

“Hey, it’s not that I don’t want… I just… not now.” 

Still frowning, Laurent shrugged and pulled open the car door. 

They drove home in silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Damen watched the street lights flicker across Laurent’s face. He was leaning against the window, absently chewing his lower lip, looking away. Damen palmed his cock through his jeans and looked back at the road. 

When he pulled up in front of Laurent’s house, he leaned over the gearshift to kiss him good night, but Laurent put a hand on his chest and shook his head. “My uncle is probably watching.”

Damen glanced at the house. The windows were all dark although the porch light was burning. It was normal to wait up for your kid, he supposed, but with all the lights off? He thought of the principal sitting in the dark, waiting for his nephew, and felt a shiver of unease slide through his stomach. “Oh.” There was a short silence, and then he blurted out, “Do you want to go with me to the away game against Vask next week?” 

In the dark, Laurent’s eyes gleamed as he blinked. “I’ll ask.” 

“Ok.” It wasn’t quite the  _ yes _ that Damen had been hoping for, but it was more than he had really been expecting. “Great. Well. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” Laurent slid out of the car, and Damen waited as he crossed the lawn, to be sure he got inside. The front door closed behind him and after a moment the porch light flickered off, but no other lights came on. Vaguely unsettled, blood still thrumming and pants tight from kissing Laurent, Damen put the car in reverse and headed home. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: teenagers having sex

Damen dropped a thick manilla envelope on the library table with a smack, making Laurent jump. “Look!” 

Laurent blinked at the embossed seal on the envelope. “Columbia. Is this…?” 

Damen nodded. His face hurt from grinning. 

“Congratulations.” Laurent smiled sincerely enough, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and he dropped his gaze back to his notebook. “That’s great.” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” Damen sat opposite him, excitement fading a little. When he’d showed Nikandros in homeroom, he’d actually yelled out loud in the middle of class. At lunch, the other guys had all piled around to hug him and pound him on the back. Laurent wasn’t even looking at him. 

They hadn’t seen each other since the play on Friday. All weekend, Damen hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. He lost the thread of discussions daydreaming about kissing Laurent, and jerked off remembering Laurent’s hands reaching for his zipper. When the letter arrived on Monday, Damen’s first thought was how excited Laurent was going to be. 

“I only got in because of you.” 

Glancing up, Laurent frowned. 

“You showed me how to use the fax machine, remember? I’d have missed the deadline otherwise.” He waved the envelope vaguely. 

“Oh. That.” Laurent looked back at the table. His knuckles were clenched around his pencil. “Well, as long as the course load at Columbia is easier than faxing, you’ll do well.” 

Damen swallowed around the sharp spike of hurt and disappointment in his throat. “Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You’re in a bad mood.” 

“I’m not,” Laurent said, and then scowled at Damen’s raised eyebrows. “Shut up. Columbia, wonderful. I’m happy for you, or whatever. It’s not like anyone’s surprised, Mr. Perfect getting into his dream school.” 

“That’s not… I’m not perfect,” Damen protested.  

“Oh, right.” Laurent rolled his eyes. “No, straight A’s, star athlete, pre-med track at Columbia. So many flaws.” 

“I’m just…” There was something bitter and vicious in Laurent’s tone that made him feel helpless. “I just work hard and try my best.” 

“Lucky your best is so good,” Laurent said, voice needle-sharp. “You should be careful hanging around with a fuck-up like me. It might rub off.” 

“You’re not… Laurent, you’re not a fuck up.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you know about it?” 

Damen spread his hands. “You’re the smartest person I know. You don’t like school, but if you wanted to you could get into any university.”

“Just drop it, ok?” Laurent’s voice was icy and dangerous, but Damen was feeling hot with frustration and reckless with hurt. 

“No, I wish you’d just try, for once in your life. You’d see how good you are at all this,” he waved his arms at the books between them, then wider to encompass the library, the whole school, “if you put your mind to it. You’re always saying you’re a fuck-up like you  _ believe _ it, but that’s only true if you let it be! Laurent you could be so much more. You could be anything you wanted.” 

Laurent glared at him, face white and eyes burning. Damen shut his mouth abruptly, stomach rolling with trepidation. He hadn’t ever seen Laurent this angry, not even in their first session together. “Don’t fucking talk about things you don’t understand,” he snarled. 

Slamming his history book shut with a thwack, Laurent kicked back his chair and stood, swinging his backpack roughly over his shoulder. He stalked out of the library without looking back, leaving Damen gaping at the door with a sharp, aching pain in his chest.

 

He didn’t see Laurent at all the next day, and he told himself the knot of anxiety in his gut was about the big game that afternoon. 

After school when Damen and the rest of the team got on the bus with their gear there was still no sign of him. Laurent hadn’t said he was coming anyway, even before their fight. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t as though they were dating. Damen tried not to think about the way his stomach flipped when Laurent had kissed him. 

Nikandros jostled his shoulder, sitting down beside him. “Hey. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Sure. Nothing.” Nik rolled his eyes. “You’ve been looking over your shoulder for the last ten minutes like you’re afraid an ax murderer is after you.”

“Really, I’m fine. Just thinking about the game.” 

“The game,” Nikandros echoed, flat and disbelieving. “You’re never like this before a…” then he trailed off, squinting out the window. 

Damen whipped his head around. An unmistakable head of blond hair was coming toward the bus. Laurent had his backpack slung over his shoulder and his sleeves rolled up. Damen swallowed hard, feeling his heartbeat accelerate. 

When Laurent climbed on the bus, there was a sudden silence, and then Orlant said, “Holy shit,” and there was a clamor of voices talking over one another. Head high and face impassive, Laurent stalked down the aisle between the seats, stopping in front of Damen and Nikandros. His eyes flicked between them, and Damen saw the uncertainty in the brief look, the tightness of his knuckles on the strap of his backpack. “You’re in my seat,” he said coldly, looking at Nikandros. 

Nik spluttered, but Damen shoved his shoulder. “Oh come on,” he groaned to Damen, but Damen poked him again and muttered, “Go on, just, please, okay?”

Rolling his eyes, Nikandros hefted his gym bag and shifted across the aisle to the other seat. There was a chorus of cheerful shouting and exclamations from the other teammates. Laurent sat quickly beside Damen, swinging his backpack onto his lap and clutching it defensively. His shoulders were tight. 

Lazar whistled. “Damn, Damen. You’ve been holding out on us.” 

“Shut up, Lazar.” 

“Hey, just making an observation.” Lazar, a couple rows back sitting next to Pallas, draped himself over the back of the empty seat between them. “If it isn’t Laurent de Vere.” 

“Yeah, how’d you pull that one, Damen?” Orlant called. “I heard he was strictly look-but-don’t-touch.” 

“I don’t want to have to break anyone’s kneecaps before we win this game,” Damen said warningly. 

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with playing hard to get.” Lazar wiggled his eyebrows at Pallas. “For some people anyway. But it’s not fair the way Damen can catch anyone he wants.” 

Laurent twisted around in his seat, fixing Lazar with an icy stare, and said clearly. “Maybe he’s just fishing with a better pole.” 

There was a howl of laughter from the team and Lazar collapsed backward, hands over his heart, miming a violent death. Orlant looked impressed. Pallas put an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders, laughing as Lazar hid his face in his chest. 

Orlant leaned across the aisle to slap Damen on the shoulder. “You’re a braver man than I, Akielos.” 

“Knock it off, you guys, it’s not a big deal.” But the focus had already shifted to ribbing Lazar, and meaningful questions to Pallas about his boyfriend’s pole. Damen slouched down to bring his head closer to Laurent’s. “I’m sorry about them. They were raised by wolves, they don’t know how to speak to humans.” 

“I’m used to it,” Laurent said, voice tight. His arms were tightly crossed over his backpack, hands fisted in the canvas. 

“Thank you for coming.” Damen brushed his fingers against Laurent’s knuckles, and Laurent startled. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Laurent looked down at Damen’s hand like he had never seen one before. Damen left it palm up on his knee, wiggling his fingers in invitation. Slowly, Laurent uncurled his grip from his backpack and placed his hand against Damen’s. His skin was cool and dry.

“Is this okay?” Damen asked softly. Their hands were hidden between their bodies from the rest of the bus. 

Jerkily, Laurent nodded, still staring down at their joined hands. He twitched a little as Damen gave a gentle squeeze, and then tentatively squeezed back. 

Damen wondered suddenly if Laurent had ever done this before. He himself could remember holding hands with his brother or Nikandros when they were younger, and then with a parade of girls and a few boys who had gravitated toward him from an early age. It seemed like such a simple, innocent pleasure, and his chest ached at the thought that Laurent, perpetually aloof, might never have experienced it before. He tightened his hand and felt Laurent’s shoulders relax minutely next to him. 

The bus driver’s voice crackled over the speaker, reminding them all to sit down, and the engine growled as they pulled away from the school. The team settled back in their seats, and Laurent’s shoulder was warm against Damen’s side. 

“I was a bitch yesterday,” Laurent said suddenly, voice low. 

Startled, Damen blinked at him. “You weren’t that bad.” 

“No, I was. You were so excited and I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I just...” He shook his head.  

“Hey… it’s ok.” Damen squeezed his hand. “You were having a bad day.” 

Laurent sighed. “Why are you… like this?” 

“Like what?” 

“Nice to me,” Laurent muttered, not looking at him. 

“Laurent…” 

“Stop forgiving me, I’m not done apologizing.” Laurent glared at him, and then slid down a little on the bench seat, tugging Damen with him until their heads were just at the level of the back. Tucking his cheek against Damen’s shoulder, he wiggled his fingers free from Damen’s grasp and slid his hand onto Damen’s stomach, brushing at the waistband of his uniform slacks. 

Damen jumped, and grabbed Laurent’s hand. “What are you doing?” 

“Saying sorry.” Laurent’s palm was warm against his dick through the front of his pants. He was still mostly soft, but could feel the tingling heat of arousal growing.

“That’s not-! No, Laurent,” he hissed under his breath. “That’s not how you say sorry -  _ oh _ .” Laurent had squeezed  _ just _ so, and his cock twitched, fattening. “Laurent…” It came out breathier and less of a protest than he’d intended, and he flicked his eyes around the bus. 

Laurent, sitting on the aisle-side, had his backpack on his lap, blocking the view of their laps from Nikandros who was sitting across from them. He had his headphones on, looking out the window. No one was paying attention to them. Damen let out an unsteady breath. “You don’t have to do this,” he managed. 

“Hmmm,” Laurent hummed. His chin was tilted down - Damen couldn’t see his face - but he thumbed open the button of Damen’s trousers and slid the zipper down, silent under the rumbling white-noise of the bus. Damen’s hips hitched up helplessly. 

Laurent’s fingers were cool on the hot head of his cock, and Damen swallowed a whimper as Laurent pulled his hard-on out of his fly. His face was burning, heart thundering with a dizzy combination of arousal and trepidation. It was broad daylight. He could hear Jord laughing at something Aimeric said, and Lazar was singing along to the tinny sounds of Rihanna playing on someone’s phone. He was rock hard in Laurent’s hand. 

For all his inexperience kissing, Laurent touched his cock confidently, starting with slow strokes near the head that teased his foreskin over his glans. He shivered, fighting the urge to thrust up into Laurent’s grip. He couldn’t roll his hips too obviously without drawing attention. Laurent’s shoulder barely moved as he worked his cock; the movement would be all but invisible to the rest of the bus. 

Laurent twisted his wrist at the top of his stroke, and a bead of precome leaked from the slit of Damen’s cock. He shivered violently when Laurent swiped his thumb over it, and Laurent made an interested noise in his throat and did it again. Damen bit back a groan, more clear fluid welling up. Laurent began to stroke him faster, a firm, steady, practiced grip. 

Damen wanted to throw his head back, moan, buck his hips, but he held himself still. The forced control fed the warm tension building in his gut. Laurent’s hair brushed against his neck as Laurent moved his head slightly, watching himself work. His cock was huge, dark and flushed against Laurent’s pale, slim hand, leaking steadily now, making the head slick and Laurent’s stokes smoother. 

Damen felt his balls draw tight, arousal coiled hot and thick at the base of his cock. His hand clenched on Laurent’s knee and he felt a hot puff of breath against his ear as Laurent leaned in and whispered, “Come for me.” 

Biting his lip desperately to hold back a cry, Damen shuddered and did, spilling into Laurent’s cupped palm. He tipped his head back, eyes closed, panting. All his limbs felt like rubber. When he opened his eyes, Laurent was wiping his hands fastidiously on a kleenex he had pulled from his bag. He wore a vaguely satisfied expression and gave Damen a small smile when he noticed him looking. 

Damen let his head thump back against the seat, with the sudden, unshakable feeling that he was in over his head. 

 

After that, the away-game against Vask seemed like an afterthought, but they won the game, and Damen came off the pitch high, buzzing from the adrenaline and the victory, sweaty and sore and soaring. The small crowd of away supporters was waiting for them in front of the locker room, shouting joyfully. 

There was a general hubbub of congratulations and celebration. Nikandros had an arm slung around his neck, and people kept pounding him on the back, yelling about the pass he had intercepted in the last half. Damen extracted himself a little, craning his neck above the others to look for Laurent. 

Damen spotted him off to one side. smiling, but looking a little uncomfortable, out of place. Still riding the high of the game, he shouldered his way through the crush of other players. Pallas and Lazar were kissing; Aimeric had his arms around Jord’s neck. 

Laurent smiled and then his eyes went wide as Damen grabbed his arm and hustled him around the side of the building and pressed him against the warm concrete wall. Laurent gasped a little, and tilted his head back for Damen to kiss him. Blood rushing in his ears, Damen licked into his mouth, and Laurent opened for him so sweetly and tentatively that Damen groaned against his lips.

Straightening, Damen looked down at Laurent, pink cheeked, with his mouth a little open. Laurent’s arms were around his neck, the sun was hot on his back, just around the corner were the shouts and ruckus of the celebrating team. They would be looking for him soon, but all Damen wanted was the arch of Laurent’s body against his, the hitch in his breath as they kissed, the hesitancy of his lips. 

There was a single-occupancy bathroom between the two locker rooms. Damen dragged Laurent inside and slammed the door behind them, throwing the lock. Kissing him again, Damen pulled their hips snug together. Laurent was hard, and it made Damen’s cock throb to feel, even after coming in Laurent’s hand just a few hours earlier. 

He wanted to crush Laurent against his chest until their bodies fused together. He wanted to rub off against his thigh and come all over his neat uniform slacks. He wanted to put his mouth on every inch of him. 

Holding Laurent’s hips to keep him in place against the wall, Damen sank to his knees on the grimy floor. 

Laurent’s eyes went wide. His hands flew to the front of his pants as if he could hide the erection pressed against the khaki fabric. Nudging his hands aside, Damen pressed his face against Laurent’s zipper and breathed in, smelling laundry soap and under it the heavy, musky smell of arousal. 

“Can I? Please?” 

Laurent swallowed, throat bobbing visibly. “I won’t… I’m not going to do that for you.” 

“I don’t care. I want to.” 

“You  _ want _ to?” 

“Yes. God, yes.” Damen was dizzy with how much he wanted it. “Laurent, let me suck your cock.” 

Laurent drew in a sharp breath, and nodded. 

Yanking down his zipper, Damen slid a hand into Laurent’s briefs and wrapped it around his dick, pulling the cotton down. Laurent was blushing furiously as his flushed erection bobbed in front of Damen.

Wrapping one hand around the base, he took the hot, velvety head of Laurent’s cock between his lips. Laurent’s thighs shook, but he didn’t make a sound. Glancing up, Damen saw that he had his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. His palms were flattened against the wall like he didn’t know what to do with them, and his eyes were fixed on Damen, wide and dark.

Breathing through his nose, knees aching on the concrete floor, Damen swallowed Laurent as far down as he could, before pulling back, licking delicately under the flared head, suckling at the very tip. Laurent’s hips bucked a little as his tongue slid over the slit, and Damen did it again. His own erection ached, straining against his jock strap, and he squeezed his cock through his shorts. 

Laurent squirmed and shuddered silently as Damen found a rhythm. Head tipped back, biting his lip, he was beautiful even in the harsh fluorescent light. Damen found himself attuned to every tiny response, every shiver and hitch of breath. Weeks of learning to read Laurent’s tiny tells had made him alert. It was a treasure hunt, eeking the smallest responses out of Laurent. 

He could feel tension running through Laurent’s body, the muscles in his thighs and stomach trembling, his fists clenched against the wall. His balls were full and taut when Damen touched them, his whole body straining. If it had been anyone else, Damen would have been sure he was about to come, but Laurent just shivered silently. His eyes were closed, and when Damen looked up he saw that his eyelashes were damp and glistening. 

Damen pulled off with a pop and cleared his throat. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Laurent shook his head minutely. 

Damen ran his hands soothingly up and down Laurent’s thighs. “Relax. It’s okay. I like sucking you.” 

“You  _ like _ it?” Laurent echoed. His voice was hoarse. 

Humming in agreement, Damen slid his mouth around Laurent’s cock again, letting his jaw relax, working him less vigorously, just slow strokes with his lips and teasing at the slit with his tongue. Shifting his sore knees on the concrete, he reached down and pulled his own cock out of his shorts, groaning in relief, letting the tight band of his jockstrap press underneath his balls. Laurent was looking down at him, wide-eyed. He sucked sloppily on Laurent’s cock while stroking himself fast and hard. 

Damen could feel himself getting close. Laurent’s cock was velvety on his tongue, and he could hear the unevenness of Laurent’s breath. Heat pooled in his stomach and he tightened his grip on his cock, tasting a bitter pulse of precome in the back of his throat. 

He groaned around Laurent’s dick, his orgasm rushing up suddenly. His cock twitched and jerked in his hand as he came in long pulses all over the bathroom floor. 

He was still panting through the aftershocks, barely stroking Laurent’s wet cock with the tip resting against his lips, when Laurent made a tiny, choked sound, and came all over his chin.  Startled, Damen felt his own cock twitch in sympathy, dripping a little more liquid onto the concrete. 

Laurent stared down at him, eyes wide and shocked. He was breathing heavily, flushed from his cheeks all the way down to his collar. There was sweat glistening on his brow and his legs were trembling. Damen licked his lips, and then pulled up the neck of his jersey to wipe his face. 

There was a knock at the door and they both jumped. 

“Stop fucking your boyfriend and get out here!” Orlant yelled, muffled through the door. Laurent went bright red. Relaxed and elated, Damen pressed his face against the soft curls and tender skin at the base of Laurent’s damp, softening cock, and laughed. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning in this chapter for brief but graphic depictions of child sexual assault and other discussion of/reference to CSA. See end notes for spoiler details

Over the next week, Damen endured the to-be-expected ribbing from his teammates about Laurent. They had started eating lunch together at the crowded team table. At first Damen was worried about that, but Laurent held his own against the crude humor and sharp remarks. No one meant anything by it, and Laurent gradually began to relax around the others. Nikandros still rolled his eyes whenever Damen caught his gaze, but Damen had seen Laurent make Nik laugh once, so there was hope. 

Laurent was still paranoid about hiding their relationship from his uncle, so they didn’t touch where anyone could see, but rumors began to go around anyway. People turned their heads to watch when they walked down the halls together, but the stares were curious rather than malicious. Damen wondered why Laurent was so worried about the principal. There were plenty of other gay couples at the school and he never seemed to bat an eye at them, so he wasn’t a homophobe. But Laurent went stiff and unhappy whenever Damen so much as put a hand on his arm in public. 

They hadn’t found time to do much more than make out in Damen’s car during their driving lessons, the only time they had alone together, during the hour twice a week Laurent’s uncle thought they were in the library. Damen jerked off every night imagining it was Laurent’s hand on his cock. 

One afternoon he was on his way to meet Laurent in the library, warm anticipation in his gut, when he passed the administrative offices and heard a familiar voice. 

He poked his head around the corner. The door to the principal’s office was cracked open. Laurent was shouting inside. “...back to me! It’s mine.” 

There was an indistinct murmur in a lower voice that he recognized as the principal’s. 

“No, I keep it for fucking fun, what do you think?” Laurent yelled. 

“Language, Laurent!” his uncle snapped, loud enough to hear. 

“Just give it back, what the hell do you think I’m going to do with it? It’s not like anyone would believe me saying-”

The door clicked shut as someone pushed it closed from the inside, and Laurent’s voice was instantly cut off. Damen stood frozen. 

After several long minutes, the door opened again, and the principal was ushering his nephew out. He stopped when he saw Damen. 

“Ah. Mr. Akielos. Can I help you with something?” 

“I was. Uh. Looking for Laurent.” 

Laurent shouldered past him without speaking. There were hectic spots of color on his cheeks. His face was thunderous, eyes downcast. 

With a last glance at the principal, Damen hurried after him. Laurent’s swift strides kept him ahead so Damen couldn’t see his face as he strode toward the library. 

When they reached it, Laurent threw himself down in his usual seat, shoulders hunched. 

“Hey. Are you okay?” 

Face grim, Laurent shrugged one shoulder, still not looking at him. Damen sat, staring at him worriedly. 

Laurent’s phone chimed, and he pulled it out of his pocket, thumbing the screen. Then his face went white. The phone slipped from his fingers and fell face down on the floor by the chair. 

Making a concerned noise, Damen bent over to retrieve it. 

“Don’t!” Laurent exclaimed, but Damen had already picked the phone up, turning it over absently in his hand. He froze, stomach lurching. 

There was a picture message open, an image of a pale boy, much too young, mouth open around a grown man’s cock. Damen couldn’t breath. It was… that was Laurent. From the angle of the camera and the way his mouth was open it took him a moment to recognize him, but there was no mistaking those blue eyes, staring up at the camera. Damen swallowed hard, feeling nauseous. 

The phone chimed again in Damen’s hand and his heart thumped as he saw the new text pop up: 

_ Remember who you belong to. _

Blood was thundering in Damen’s ears. Some vague part of his brain was wondering if he was going to be arrested for even looking at this. It took him a long moment to look at who had sent the message, and then he thought he really might be sick. 

At the top of the screen it simply said: Uncle 

Slowly, he looked up. 

Laurent was sitting very straight, not looking at him, staring straight ahead at the bookshelves opposite. His face, always pale, was ashen. His hands curled on top of his notebook were clenched. 

“Laurent,” Damen breathed. “What…. What is this?”

Laurent twitched slightly, and mumbled, barely audible. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” Damen yelped, too loud. “What for?” 

Laurent hissed at him to shut up, a dozen other students in the library looked up, and Halvik swept over toward them from the circulation desk. 

“Young man!” 

Damen winced and turned to smile apologetically. “Sorry Ms. H.” The expression felt like dry plaster on his face, cracking at the edges. 

She frowned at the two of them. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Nothing. Just.” Damen waved the phone, deeply glad that the screen had gone black. “My brother. Being… you know. How brothers are.” 

Halvik sniffed. “I have girls.” 

“... Right. Sorry. We’ve gotta be going anyway.” Damen began gathering school books and shoving them haphazardly into his bag. His hands were shaking. “Laurent?” 

Not looking at him, Laurent nodded, and began gathering up his own things. He hesitated when Damen handed the phone back to him, and then slid it into his pocket. 

They ended up behind the bleachers on the football field. Every few steps Damen glanced over to see if Laurent was still behind him, half expecting Laurent to slink away and disappear, but he followed Damen with his head down, both arms wrapped around his backpack. Damen’s head was spinning, reeling through dozens of memories of Laurent and his uncle, each one taking on a sinister new significance. Laurent who wasn’t allowed to go out after school, or learn to drive, who never had any spending money or a  _ door on his fucking bedroom. _ Damen felt sick. 

Under the bleachers, Laurent sat hunched over, hugging himself and looking away while Damen paced circles on the grass. “What do we do?” 

“What the hell do you mean, what do we do?” Laurent muttered. 

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Damen waved his arms. “We have to do something!” 

“We?” Laurent said coldly. 

“Yes!”

“This isn’t your problem. Believe me, you don’t want to get involved. Bad things happen when you upset my uncle.” 

“But.” Damen stopped pacing, standing helplessly with his hands at his sides. “I’m already involved, because I’m your…” He stumbled and swallowed. “Your friend.” 

Laurent’s eyebrows rose dubiously, and he looked away. “Friend.”

“Or something,” Damen said softly. “But you’re not in this alone and we can’t just do  _ nothing _ .” 

“What the hell do you think we can do?” 

“Anything! Tell someone! Tell the police!” 

Laurent shook his head. “Guion, the police chief, is a  _ family friend _ .” The words were bitter, bitten off. “My uncle is an  _ upstanding citizen _ and I’m just a troubled delinquent looking for attention. No one would believe me.” 

“...Your uncle told you that?” Damen asked carefully. 

“Yes, but he’s right. I told someone once, a long time ago, and he didn’t believe me.”

Damen swallowed hard at the thought of what  _ a long time ago _ implied about the abuse. “But you have proof! The picture.” 

“Not enough to implicate my uncle. He was always careful. I’ve never seen one with his face in it. Or-” Laurent’s mouth curled unhappily. “Much of his body.” 

Damen sucked in a breath, stomach churning. “Did he, uh… take pictures a lot?” 

Wordlessly, Laurent unlocked his phone, and handed it to Damen. It was still open to the text thread with his uncle, and Damen scrolled up the chat with a stone in his gut. There were indeed other pictures, all the more sickening for being scattered between normal texts about homework and chores. Most of them featured Laurent at about the same age, maybe 11 or 12, possibly a young looking 13, but one or two were more recent. There was one that caught his attention - Laurent very young, asleep clutching a familiar stuffed rabbit. The rabbit’s fur was stained with glistening white streaks. Damen felt a wave of nausea clench in his throat and put the phone down. 

“You kept these?” he managed, voice only a little unsteady. 

Laurent shrugged one shoulder. “It’s what you’re supposed to do. Keep records. I wrote down other things too, in my journal, but Uncle found it this morning.”

Taking a deep breath, Damen ran his hands through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp till it hurt. The blue journal that Laurent was so protective of. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . 

“I’m sorry,” Laurent muttered again. 

“What… why the hell would you say sorry?” 

“Because we’ve been… doing stuff. You didn’t know how fucked up I really am. It wasn’t fair to you. And I…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I touched you... on the bus... when you didn’t really want it. You said no and I didn’t stop.” Laurent pressed his face against his arms, muffling his voice. “I’m just like him. I’m disgusting.” 

“You’re not… No. Laurent…” Damen’s chest ached. He reached out an arm and then stopped. “Can I hug you?” 

Laurent peeked up at him. His eyes were red but dry. “You still want to touch me?” 

“Yes,” Damen breathed. After a long moment, Laurent nodded, and Damen folded him in his arms, pressing his face against Laurent’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him. “Laurent, listen to me. You’re not disgusting. You didn’t… trick me into kissing you or anything. You’re actually amazing, and you’re dealing with the most fucked up shit I’ve ever seen and it’s ok that you didn’t want to tell me. I mean, I’m glad I know now, but it’s not your fault for not wanting to talk about it.” He took a deep breath. His throat was tight, and he squeezed his arm around Laurent. Incrementally, he felt Laurent’s tense shoulders relax against him. “And the thing on the bus wasn’t the same at all. Jokaste once convinced me to have sex with her in the living room while my brother was asleep on the couch.” 

“Really?” Laurent mumbled. His face was pressed against Damen’s chest, and he sounded calmer. “This was the girlfriend who dumped you for your brother, right?” 

“Yeah. In hindsight, that was probably a lot more fucked up than a handjob with some of my friends around. Teenagers do dumb shit like that all the time, and it’s not  _ great _ but it’s not at all the same as what your uncle did to you, for two reasons - one, you weren’t doing it to hurt me or have power over me.” He hesitated. “Although Jokaste maybe was. I don’t know. And two, I could have actually, physically stopped you if I had really wanted. Gotten up and walked away, broken up with you, whatever. It wasn’t like I was powerless.” 

“Broken up?” Laurent said in a small voice. “Are we dating?” 

“I…” Damen’s heart thumped. “If you want to.” 

“Do  _ you _ still want to?” 

“Yes. Laurent,  _ yes _ .” 

Laurent lifted his head and blinked at him, and then said. “Ok. Yes.” 

Damen cupped his face, leaning in slowly to give him time to pull away, but Laurent made a small, urgent noise in his throat and crushed their mouths together. They kissed messily, fiercely, Laurent’s fingers digging into his shoulders. When they broke apart, Laurent pressed his forehead against Damen’s and panted. 

Stroking his fingers gently through Laurent’s hair, Damen cradled the back of his head, eyes still closed. “We’re going to figure something out. We’re going to get you away from him.” Laurent’s breath hitched and Damen wracked his brain for a solution.  

He sat up abruptly. “Makedon!” 

Laurent frowned. “What’s a Makedon?” 

“He’s a friend of my dad’s. He works for the FBI, technically in internet crimes, I think, but I know he’s handled child porn. We can trust him.” 

Laurent eyed him sideways. “Forgive me when I find it hard to trust family friends. Anyway, he’d still need probable cause for a warrant.” 

“Wouldn’t your testimony be enough?” 

His face shuttered. “I’m not testifying. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“But...” 

“No!” 

“Ok. Some other evidence then. Are you sure the photos aren’t enough? I mean, he sent them from his phone.”

“You don’t know my uncle. He’d slither out of it. Make it my fault. Get rid of his phone probably, say it wasn’t his number, that I was texting someone online. Probably make it my fault, get me charged with possession of child pornography.” 

Damen rubbed his face. “Ok, ok. We’ll keep thinking. But if we can get something that implicates your uncle, we can take it to Makedon.” 

Beside him, Laurent went still. “What if we could get a video with his face in it?” 

“You mean another…? But how would we… no. No, no, no, Laurent. No way.” 

“Yes! We’ll hide a camera somewhere. My room, or his office.” 

“His office?” Damen echoed faintly. 

“And then I’ll… well. I can’t actually initiate anything, he’d know something was wrong immediately. But I’ll provoke him,” Laurent continued as if Damen hadn’t spoken. “Then we’ll have all the footage your friend will need to convict.” 

“Laurent, I can’t let you do that.” 

Laurent leveled an icy gaze at him. “If we don’t do it on purpose, it will happen again anyway.” Damen’s stomach lurched. “You can be in or out, but I’m doing this.” 

Damen gazed at Laurent’s face, the hard set of his jaw making him look older. “I’m in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise knives, didn't I?  
> Spoiler details: chapter contains descriptions of photographs of Laurent in sexual situations with the Regent between the ages of about 10 and 15. Damen and Laurent discuss the ongoing abuse. 
> 
> Another note: Laurent talks about documentation as "what you are supposed to do"... While documenting specific instances of abuse can be valuable if you mean to press charges, challenge parental custody, sue for emancipation, or get someone fired from a workplace, keeping records like that may directly endanger you if your abuser finds them. Your priority is ALWAYS your safety, and if you are concerned about lack of privacy on your computer, phone, journal, etc, consider ways you can keep records with friends or in other safe spaces. Additionally, admissable documentation in court varies from location to location. More information [here on documenting abuse](https://www.thehotline.org/2014/05/12/building-your-case-how-to-document-abuse/). 
> 
> The scheme Laurent and Damen are cooking up here is a big DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. "The play's the thing, to catch the conscience of the king" was pretty stupid when Hamlet did it, and is inadvisable here. Again, explore other avenues for documentation, and - one of the morals of this fic, if you will - even if someone didn't believe you _someone else will_.  
>  The Rape, Assault and Incest National Network is [here](https://www.rainn.org/).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for on-screen abuse.

Once decided, Laurent seemed to have caught Damen’s earlier restless energy. He paced on the grass of the playing field until Damen checked the time, and they both hurried back to the library. When the principal came at the end of the hour to pick Laurent up, Damen could barely look at him. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Akielos?” the principal asked. It made Damen sick to think that he had believed this man’s solicitous tone. He tried to muster an innocuous response but all he could think about was the stuffed rabbit with this man’s come matting its fur. 

“Damen’s got a stomach ache,” Laurent said, tone bored, shoving his history textbook in his bag and zipping it shut. Damen nodded and grimaced. It was true, after all. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The principal put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, and Damen’s vision went white. Laurent didn’t twitch but he stepped away from the touch and strode away. “I hope you feel better soon.” 

“Thanks,” he gritted out. 

On the way home, he stopped at an electronics store and bought a tiny, portable camera that would upload to wifi and interface remotely with a smartphone. 

Laurent had suggested using his phone to take the video, but Damen wanted something that could be accessed remotely, so that if the principal found the camera the footage would still be safe. “I don’t have any money,” Laurent had said. “Money would be far too much responsibility for a troubled boy like me. I suppose if I really needed cash I could put some of my uncle’s lessons to use sucking cock.”

So Damen was buying the camera. He told the salesgirl it was to check on his dog while he was at school, and she smiled understandingly. Thinking of the missing door to Laurent’s room, his gut churned with how easy it was to buy a camera that you could watch someone with all the time. 

 

The next day, passing Laurent in the hall, he slipped the small box into Laurent’s unzipped backpack. Their eyes met briefly and then Laurent was stalking away down the hall. Damen could see the tension in his body. 

Thursday afternoon when Laurent sat down opposite him at the library table, he pulled out his phone, plugged in the headphones, and showed Damen the small but startlingly clear image of the principal’s empty office. A sudden surge of adrenaline made his heart jump in his chest, although the video feed showed nothing but a neat desk and chairs. It was a good angle though- you could see almost all of the room. Raising his eyes to meet Laurent’s, he nodded. 

Laurent tapped the screen, where one of the principal’s bookshelves was visible. “My notebook.” Squinting, Damen saw the blue spine on the shelf that Laurent was pointing at. “I’ll grab it when we’re done.” 

“Okay. I called Makedon. He’s going to come over tomorrow, he’ll be waiting for us when we get home.” 

“Tomorrow,” Laurent echoed. 

“Is that okay?” 

Laurent nodded. “Let’s get it over with.” 

 

The plan was simple, once the camera was planted. The principal would catch them making out in the hall, during lunch so that he couldn’t reasonably take Laurent home, and his punishment would happen in the principal’s office. 

Damen spent the entire morning compulsively checking the app, reassuring himself about the angle of the camera and his phone’s battery life, until his homeroom teacher snapped at him to put it away. By the time he met Laurent outside the main office at lunch, the back of his uniform shirt was sticking to him with nervous sweat. “Ready?” he asked. 

Laurent’s face was calm, but Damen could see the tension in his shoulders. Now that he knew what to look for, it was the way Laurent always looked when he talked about his uncle. His knuckles were white around the straps of his backpack. “‘The play’s the thing, to catch the conscience of the king.’”

“I understood that reference,” Damen said, with an attempt at humor, but it fell horribly flat.  

Laurent nodded slightly, as if acknowledging the pathetic effort. “He’ll be coming out of his office any minute now.” 

“Are you sure he’s going to… react the right way?” Damen asked quietly. Most of the student body was already in the lunchroom but there were a dozen or so stragglers still in the hall. 

“I’m sure.” Laurent’s adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. “He doesn’t like to share.” 

Damen’s stomach flipped. Instead of responding, he bent his head and tipped Laurent’s chin up. Laurent was trembling very slightly under his hands but he looped his arms around Damen’s neck and yanked his face down to kiss him. 

There were a few gasps and muffled whispering from the student’s around them. Damen heard someone say, “Holy shit, is that Akielos and de Vere?” and the click of a cell phone camera going off. Pressing his eyes tightly shut he ignored them, focusing on the feel of Laurent’s body against his own, the now-familiar taste of his mouth. Laurent was kissing him hard, teeth and tongue, one hand gripping his hair tightly enough to hurt. Under the urgency was fear, and Damen pressed back fiercely, as if he could kiss it away. Damen’s heart was pounding so hard he felt lightheaded. Laurent was the only solid thing in the world. 

Behind them a door opened with a squeal of hinges, and all the hairs stood up on the back of Damen’s neck. Silence fell among the tittering students, and then the principal cleared his throat. 

They broke apart, Damen with his hand on Laurent’s shoulder, fighting the urge to put himself between Laurent and his uncle.  _ Act natural _ , he reminded himself. Laurent shrugged him off, blinking at the principal expressionlessly. 

“Gentlemen, lewd behavior is against school rules.” The principal clasped his hands behind his back. His tone was mild. “Laurent, my office, now. Mr. Akielos, if you’d excuse us, I’d like to talk to my nephew alone.” Damen must have hesitated a beat too long, because he added, “Not to worry. It’s not a serious infraction.” 

Meeting Laurent’s impassive gaze, Damen walked away. His palms were sweating and his heart thundering. Down the hall, he slipped into the single occupancy staff bathroom and locked the door. Hands shaking, he opened the app on his phone and tucked his earbuds into his ears. 

The video feed showed Laurent entering the office, his uncle closing the door behind him. Through the earbuds he heard the tinny sound of the lock clicking. Laurent was standing in the center of the room, directly in front of the camera, staring at the floor. His shoulders were tense. 

“Laurent,” the principal began. “I’m very disappointed. You know the rules.” 

“I’m not a child anymore,” Laurent said harshly. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

His uncle tutted. “That boy is a bad influence on you. He’ll have to go, you know.” 

“You can’t expel him. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” 

“On the contrary. He assaulted my nephew.” Damen’s stomach flipped, and on the tiny screen he saw Laurent flinch. “Isn’t that right, Laurent?” 

“ _ No, _ ” Laurent hissed. “No, it’s not true.” 

“It’ll be our word against his. Such a shame, a bright boy like that, to have a sexual assault charge on his record so young.” 

Laurent was breathing hard, chest rising and falling visibly. “I won’t do that to him. You can’t make me.” 

“Oh Laurent.” The principal reached out and stroked a finger down Laurent’s cheek. Laurent’s eyes fluttered but he didn’t move. “Haven’t you learned anything? Of course I can. If you cooperate, it can be a quiet affair. If you object, then I’m afraid it will become a much bigger problem. This older student has groomed and corrupted my nephew so badly that he doesn’t know his own mind. He’s truly a danger.”

“No,” Laurent whispered. Damen couldn’t even hear the word through the earbuds but he saw Laurent’s lips move. “No. Uncle, don’t.” 

“Hmmm. Well, if you’re going to cooperate, it won’t have to be so messy.” His fingers closed around Laurent’s chin, digging in until his pale skin turned bright white.  “Ask me nicely.” 

Laurent closed his eyes. “Please, Uncle.” 

Damen’s throat clenched like he was about to be sick. 

“That’s my boy,” the principal purred. “Now prove to me you mean it. Show me how good you’re going to be.” He put his hands on his belt and Laurent flinched away. “Ah-ah, none of that. Or do you want your little friend’s life ruined?”

Shaking his head, Laurent knelt down in front of his uncle. The principal made a pleased sound and unbuckled his belt. 

Damen ripped the earbuds out and pressed a hand hard over his mouth, breathing through his nose until the nausea subsided. Although this moment was lynchpin of the plan, he couldn’t bring himself to watch. Tipping his head back, Damen stared up at the institutional ceiling tiles, hand clenched so hard around the phone that his fingers started to go numb. 

Forcing himself to breath, he slid the phone into his pocket and turned on the sink, splashing cold water on his face. When he had gotten enough of a grip that he no longer felt about to throw up, although his stomach was still a painful knot, he unlocked the bathroom, and walked calmly down the hall to the principal’s office. 

The door was thick, there was no sound from within. He knocked. After a long moment, the door opened. Damen’s eyes flew to Laurent, standing behind his uncle with his eyes lowered. The principal stood in the doorway, glaring. Did he look a flushed? Was his shirt tucked in untidily? Was Laurent’s mouth a little swollen? The tells were so subtle that if he hadn’t just been watching them he would have been sure he was imagining them. How many times had someone interrupted, Damen wondered. How many times had some oblivious person wandered close to being Laurent’s salvation and not noticed anything amiss? 

“Mr. Akielos,” the principal prompted, scowling. “Did you need something?”

Damen stepped forward into the man’s space. He had eight inches of height on the principal and he took two steps back as Damen loomed over him, so he was no longer blocking the doorway. Laurent, still not looking at Damen, picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He had the blue notebook in one hand. “I’m taking Laurent,” Damen said. 

The principal spluttered. “That’s… I… Completely out of the question young man!” He started toward Laurent, but Damen held out an arm, blocking him and guiding Laurent to the door at once. Laurent slipped past him, clutching his backpack and the notebook to his chest. 

“Get back in here, Laurent.  _ Laurent _ .” 

Laurent’s shoulders were hunched around his ears as he walked quickly down the hall, not looking back. Damen hurried after him. 

“Come back this instant,” the principal called, voice echoing in the hall. “You’ll regret this, Laurent.” Other students were staring. 

They reached the front door, and Damen slammed through, out into the sunlight. “Are you alright?” he asked. 

“Just go.” Laurent’s knuckles were white on the notebook. “He’s probably calling Guion right now.” They hurried toward the parking lot and the red sports car. Laurent slammed the passenger door as Damen put the key in the ignition. “Go, go, go.” Damen floored the gas pedal and the engine roared. 

 

Damen’s parent’s house wasn’t too far from the school, and he made the drive in record time. He was just pulling up to the curb when he saw the blue and red lights. A cop car was pulling around the corner coming toward them. “He called the station,” Laurent said faintly. 

“Front door,” Damen snapped, but Laurent was already out of the car, running across the lawn. Damen threw the car in park and stumbled out himself, not bothering to cut the ignition. Makedon’s car was in the driveway behind his father’s sedan. If they could get inside, Makedon would be waiting for them, they’d be safe. 

The police car pulled up behind him and the car door slammed.  

“Stop right there.” Damen glanced over his shoulder and froze, raising both hands. The officer was a white man with one hand on the butt of his gun. Damen’s heart leapt into his throat. “Hey! You too!” Laurent was at the front door of the house, his back to the police officer. “Hey!” 

The door swung open, and out of the corner of his eye Damen saw Makedon’s enormous bulk filling the doorway. The cop drew his gun. “Nobody move.” 

“Stand down, son.” Lifting one hand, Makedon flashed his badge with the other. “FBI. Put away that goddamn gun before you hurt someone.”  

The pistol wavered in his hand and he lowered it slowly. “FBI?” 

“That’s right. What are you doing here?” 

“We had a tip of an attempted kidnapping.” 

Makedon raised his thick eyebrows. “Oh really? Who’s being kidnapped?” 

The officer was looking uncertain. “The blond boy. He was taken forcibly from school premises by this man.” He jerked his head at Damen. Laurent, hovering behind Makedon, made a face. “Police chief sent me specially, sir.” Makedon was probably only ten years older than the man, but Damen understood the impulse to call him  _ sir. _

“Do you see any evidence of force, officer?” Makedon said dryly. “Looks like a couple of boys playing hooky to me. This is an appalling waste of taxpayer resources.” 

“Sorry, sir.” The man still hadn’t holstered his gun. “Only I have strict instructions not to come back to the station without both these boys. Just following orders, sir.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I’m in the middle of an ongoing investigation, and these boys are in my jurisdiction. You radio and tell your police chief that. We’ll be inside, and if you try entering without a warrant you’ll find all the lawyers on the FBI payroll knocking at the precinct door.” He nodded to Damen. “Come on.” 

Cautiously, hands still open at his sides, Damen crossed the lawn and stepped into the cool dimness of the front hall. The door clicked and he felt his shoulders relax, suddenly dizzy as adrenaline left his bloodstream in a rush. “Laurent…” He turned, holding out an arm, and Laurent collapsed against his chest, pressing his face into Damen’s neck. He was trembling. Damen was feeling shaky himself, his limbs like rubber. 

Behind them, Makedon cleared his throat, and Laurent flinched, going tense again. Damen kept his arm around his shoulders as they pulled apart. 

“Whatever you boys have got, it’s making a stir,” Makedon said. “I’m glad you called me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> d r a m a.   
> Only one more chapter to go! (I originally had the wrong number of chapters bc I combined chapters 1 & 2 in my word doc when I posted them here).


	8. Chapter 8

In the end, Damen and Laurent ended up in the kitchen while Makedon shut himself in Theomedes’ empty office and looked at the video, the blue notebook, and the photos. Damen, realizing he was ravenous, fixed them both sandwiches. They had missed lunch, and he’d been too nervous to eat that morning.

When he was wiping crumbs and smears of hummus off his fingers, having inhaled his sandwich, he looked over at Laurent who had barely touched his. “Are you alright?” 

Laurent shrugged, picking sesame seeds off his crusts. 

“Hey.” Damen reached out, hesitating before putting a hand on Laurent’s wrist. “We made it. Makedon will take it from here.” 

“You don’t know my uncle,” Laurent said, voice low. “He’s not going to just let me go. He’ll come after me.” Pushing his plate away he wrapped his arms across his chest, shoulders hunched. Damen’s hand dropped to the table. 

“If he wants you, he’ll have to go through me,” Damen said, crossing his own arms. 

Laurent glanced sideways at him. “No one says that in real life.” 

Damen stuck out his chin. “Oh yeah? I just did.” 

Laurent didn’t quite smile, but he didn’t look quite as worried, so Damen counted it as a success. 

The doorbell rang, and Laurent jolted upright, color draining from his face. They stared at one another, and then Damen said, “Get Makedon.” 

In the front hall he looked through the peephole, heart pounding. In the distorted fish-eye of the lens were the principal and another middle-aged man in police uniform. Damen’s palms were sweating.  

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Laurent was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, pale and tense. 

“Get Makedon,” Damen repeated. “Stay out of sight.” 

“Don’t open the door.” 

“Go get Makedon.” 

But Makedon had already poked his head out of the office.

“Is that our mark?” he asked. Damen nodded and Makedon’s eyes narrowed. “Good. Let's do this.” 

“Laurent, go back to the kitchen,” Damen whispered as he reached for the doorknob, but Laurent stood, white and unmoving, behind Makedon, his head held high. The door swung open. 

The principal stood on the porch, rigidly upright, his expression stony and forbidding - Damen saw suddenly the resemblance of his expression to Laurent ats his coldest and most furious. His stomach flipped slowly. 

Makedon loomed in the doorway, blocking most of the entry hall from view. 

“Chief Guion,” the officer said. “I’m here on the case of a runaway boy.” 

“Runaway?” Makedon said mildly. “I heard it was a kidnapping.” 

The principal fixed his gaze on his nephew, under Makedon’s arm, and Damen stepped up to his shoulder, keeping Laurent shielded. There was an unmistakable promise of violence in his eyes, but when he spoke his voice was silky and calm. “I’m afraid there has been some confusion. Please excuse our intrusion. I’ve come to collect my nephew. I’m afraid he has caused a bit of an incident at the school and these boys ended up playing truant.” He smiled, the same easy, genuine smile as ever. “You know how boys can be. Laurent. Come. We’ll discuss your transgressions more at home.” 

Laurent didn’t move. Out of the corner of his eye Damen could see him standing in the kitchen doorway, shoulders hunched up around his ears and arms tightly crossed over his chest. 

His uncle made an impatient noise. “Don’t draw this out Laurent.” He addressed himself to Makedon again, tone losing some of its sharpness. “I’m concerned for my nephew, he’s a very troubled boy, and worryingly susceptible to outside influence.” He cast a sharp glance at Damen. “Both these boys have left school premises in the middle of the day without permission, which is a serious infraction. That sort of behavior isn’t like Laurent. I’m concerned for his well-being.” 

“You are this boy’s uncle?” Makedon rumbled. 

“Yes indeed,” the principal said smoothly. “I apologize for any trouble his behavior has caused, he’s been-”

“Mr. De Vere, I’m Agent Makedon with the FBI, and I’m placing you under arrest on the charge of criminal sexual misconduct with a minor and purveying of child pornography.” There was a chime of metal as Makedon drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. 

“This is absurd,” Guion spluttered. 

Makedon cast him a look at made him sputter to a halt. “Don’t make me open an investigation into your precinct, Chief Guion. At best, there has been significant incompetence in the failure to address a serious case of child sexual assault in your community.”

The principal had gone very still. “I don’t know what my nephew has told you,” he said, low and fast, “but I  _ assure _ you…” 

“You have the right to remain silent,” Makedon began, implacable. 

Laurent’s uncle kept his head rigidly upright throughout the cuffing and Miranda rights, saying nothing at all. His furious, icy gaze rarely left Laurent, still lurking in the hall, until Makedon turned him forcefully and escorted him down the front steps. 

After everything, it felt anticlimactic. There was adrenaline buzzing under Damen’s skin and nowhere for it to go. He felt jittery, unsettled. The principal’s gaze on Laurent made him want to punch something. Laurent himself was just as still and contained as his uncle. 

It took surprisingly little time for Laurent’s uncle to be bundled in handcuffs into the back of an unmarked FBI vehicle, but it was late by the time Makedon had finished filling out paperwork, making phone calls, taking Damen’s statement and looking over the rest of Laurent’s evidence. Around 7 o’clock, Damen made sandwiches for everyone again, and again, Laurent barely ate. 

Damen’s father and stepmother had come home from work in the midst of the chaos, and there had been a significant amount of arm-waving and raised voices that made Laurent tense against Damen. When everything had been explained, Laurent standing rigid and expressionless the whole time, Theomedes had looked at Laurent and said, “Son, if anyone hurts you again they’ll have to answer to me.” Then he’d glanced at Damen, raised his eyebrows slightly, and said, “Unless my son gets there first.” Squeezing an arm around Laurent’s shoulders, Damen felt him relax minutely. 

The two of them were curled up together on the living room couch when Makedon finally came back into the room, looking tired. Damen’s parents had gone to bed hours before, after his stepmother had announced she had put clean sheets on the bed in the guest room, and given them both a worried look. Theomedes had squeezed Damen’s shoulder and said, “Come get us if you need anything.” 

Netflix was playing on the TV, but neither of them were paying attention. Laurent’s head was tipped against Damen’s shoulder, knees drawn up to his chest, looking asleep except for the glitter of his eyes in the light of the TV. Damen himself was drowsing, but jerked fully awake when Makedon entered. 

Picking up the remote, Makedon paused the show, and sat down in an armchair opposite them. His hands were clasped between his knees, his face serious. The harsh light from the screen cast deep shadows on his face. He cleared his throat and when he spoke his voice was low. “He’s gone.” 

Laurent didn’t move, but his hand tightened in the blanket wrapped around him.

“Laurent, you need a safe place to stay,” Makedon continued. “Normal procedure would be to look for extended family members to place you with, but in this case I think we can bend the rules a little. Do you know where you want to stay, Laurent?” 

“He’s staying here,” Damen said, and then faltered, looking at Laurent’s profile - impassive in the blue light of the TV. They hadn’t talked about it. “I mean. If you want.” 

Laurent nodded once, sharply, and Makedon sighed. “Alright. There’s going to be more paperwork to make that official and keep you out of foster care, but we can deal with that in the morning. I’m headed home. Damen has my number if you need anything at all. And I’ll keep you posted on all the developments in the case.” He rubbed his hands on his knees. “I’ll see you boys soon.” 

“I’ll walk you out,” Damen said, jumping up. 

The hall was dark. When Damen opened the front door, orange light filtered in from the street lamp on the corner. Makedon shrugged his jacket on, the light making him a craggy, looming shape in the darkness, as familiar and safe as Damen’s own father. 

“Thank you for everything,” Damen said.

“No need,” Makedon rumbled. “Taking down scum like that is the best part of my job.” 

“Are the charges going to stick?” Damen asked, lowering his voice. 

“Well. There’s never guarantees with the courts, but just from the evidence we’ve got already I’d say this is one of the most water-tight cases I’ve seen in ages.”

Damen nodded, relieved. Makedon slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to rock him on his feet. “Good luck with Laurent. I’ll be back tomorrow.”  

When he had gone, Damen locked the door behind him and threw the deadbolt. He padded back into the living room. Laurent was huddled on the couch, chin on his knees, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Damen sat carefully beside him. Laurent didn’t look at him; staring straight ahead, eyes reflecting the eerie light of the TV. “How are you feeling?” Damen ventured.

Laurent shrugged one shoulder. 

“It’s over,” Damen continued gently. 

“It’s not.” Laurent’s voice was hoarse. He had barely spoken all evening. “He’ll make bail and come for me.”

“That won’t-” 

“He  _ will _ ,” Laurent snapped. “He’s talked his way out of every corner he’s ever been in. You’ve seen him talk. Do you think he can’t wrap a judge and jury around his finger like everyone else?” 

“But all the photos. The video. Makedon said…” 

Laurent was shaking his head, breath coming fast. His eyes were dilated, pupils dark in the blue glare of the screen. Damen could see his chest rising and falling in shallow shudders. He reached out helplessly, hand hovering over Laurent’s shoulder. Laurent made a small, broken sound in his throat and slid sideways against Damen’s chest. 

Damen closed his arm around him, whispering, “Hey. Hey, I’ve got you,” as Laurent snuffled against his shoulder. He could feel the tremors running through Laurent’s whole body, the nearly-silent shudders of choked off sobs.  

Finally Laurent sniffed and pulled back, turning his blotchy face away. “Sorry. I’m a fucking mess.” 

“I don’t mind,” Damen said honestly. 

They sat in silence. In the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed on, and upstairs the toilet in the master bathroom flushed. Familiar, homey noises. It was almost three in the morning; Damen’s mind and body were wrung out, exhausted, full of fuzz. 

“I should have killed him,” Laurent said, sudden and harsh. “It would have been so easy. I thought all the time about taking a kitchen knife and slicing his throat while he slept but I was too much of a coward.” His voice cracked. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for him to come after me.” Damen sucked in a breath, scrambling for something to say. Laurent looked sideways at him, mouth curled in a grim imitation of a smile. “My fatal flaw.” 

“Not fatal,” Damen said faintly, completely at a loss. 

Laurent let out a heavy breath and looked away, shoulders curving in. He tipped his forehead against his knees, silent. Finally, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Let’s go to bed.” 

Damen led him to the guest room and pointed out the bathroom and his own room. 

“I’ll leave a new toothbrush out for you. You can come wake me up if you need anything. Anything at all.” Laurent was staring down at the knob of the guest room door. “Are you going to be okay?” 

Blinking, Laurent looked up at him. “When have I  _ ever _ been okay?” 

Damen flushed and swallowed. “Sorry. Fuck. I just meant…” 

Laurent rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said helplessly as Laurent shut the door between them. The lock clicked. 

 

Damen woke slowly, feeling sweaty and overheated. He blinked. Sunlight was streaming through his window and there was a warm body pressed against his. Laurent was curled against his chest, hair rumpled, one of Damen’s tee shirts sliding off his shoulder. His was watching Damen, eyes vivid blue in the morning light. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, biting his lip. “I didn’t want to be alone.” 

“It’s ok,” Damen managed. Their knees were tangled together, Laurent’s side pressed against his bare chest. Damen’s morning erection was suddenly very urgent. He fought down the urge to squirm. “Did you sleep?” 

“A little.” Laurent pressed his cheek against Damen’s collar bone and mumbled, “I’m sorry I freaked out last night.” 

Damen cupped his hand around the back of Laurent’s head. “It’s okay to freak out.”

“It’s going to be okay, right? We got him on camera. All of it. He can’t get out of that. Right? He’ll go to prison.”

“Right. Yes, of course.” Damen tightened his arm around Laurent’s shoulders, still being careful to keep his hips angled away. 

Laurent sighed, warm breath gusting against Damen’s neck. “I know he’s not some kind of untouchable royal or a magician who can get out of any trouble. But sometimes it  _ felt _ like magic, like some kind of curse. How everyone looked at him and saw a good man, and I was the only one who could see the monster.” His face was hidden against Damen’s chest. “My brother used to read me too many fairy tales. Maybe that explains something about me.” Pulling back with a sigh, Laurent pushed himself up on his elbows. “You remind me of him. I haven’t... had anyone on my side in a long time.”  

Damen made a soft sound in his throat, sitting up also, keeping the sheets draped across his lap. “Laurent. No matter what happens, you’re not alone any more. I promise. I’ll be here.” 

Laurent slanted a sideways glance at him. There was a moment’s silence. Damen couldn’t read his expression at all. Then Laurent said, “Haven’t you heard I’m a frigid bitch?”

Damen’s heart leapt. “Yeah. I heard something like that. I don’t see it, myself.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Laurent sighed, ducking his head, but there was a smile playing around his mouth. 

Damen grinned, and stretched his arms over his head, enjoying the way Laurent’s eyes dipped down his bare torso.“Yeah but you love me anyway,” he said, and then froze. Laurent was sitting very still, eyeing him warily. “I mean,” he stuttered. “I just mean, you put up with me anyway? Not that I don’t think… or that I wouldn’t say… It’s not a big deal.” 

“Shut up,” Laurent muttered. Tangling a hand in Damen’s hair, Laurent pulled him down and kissed him. 

_**LA FIN** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who has come along on this ride. It has been a joy to write for you and it warms the cockles of my heart to make you scream.  
> once again, this fic would never have been begun and CERTAINLY not finished without the excellent niniblack, who screamed, beta'd and cheerleaded like a pro. nini, it was enormous fun to work on this fic with you and make a new friend in the process.  
> xoxoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!  
> Come scream with me on tumblr [@stillwaterseas](http://stillwaterseas.tumblr.com/) or on my Capri sideblog [@seas-of-ios](https://seas-of-ios.tumblr.com/)


End file.
